


R&D

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters, Ryuuko no Ken | Art of Fighting (Video Games)
Genre: Androgyny, Crossdressing, Drinking, Drunkenness, Gen, Genderbending, Hospitalization, I wrote this because I got bored but you can read it if you want or whatever, Lies, Minor Violence, Origin Story, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: Before King was King, she was just a college student trying to make ends meet. However, a visit with her sick brother pushes her in an unorthodox direction.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	1. Foster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've all wondered how the actual hell King came to be, well... King. This is my headcanon heavy attempt to shed some light on what might have led her to start the long con in the first place.
> 
> So, of course, her name is not canon, and if SNK ever actually reveals it I'll have to come back and retcon the ever living holy fuck out of this... that is, unless they decide to listen to the whims of a neurotic author, which is highly unlikely.
> 
> Onward~!

_Bouncer Wanted: Apply Within_

Cécile Levasseur resentfully glared at the sign on the door as she walked into the L’Amour restaurant for another shift waiting tables and putting up with all manner of service industry related snobbery. The position had been vacant for weeks after the previous guy simply up and vanished (there were rumours about that…), and Cécile, who had learned Muay Thai from her dad (who was an expert in the art) knew she was more than capable of filling the role — and filling it well. Unfortunately, her supervisors didn’t see it that way; as far as they were concerned a bouncer was a MAN’s job for MEN.

It was patriarchal bullshit at its finest.

As Cécile went through the motions of her shift she thought of ways to scrounge up extra cash: The tips she was bringing in were nowhere near enough to cover tuition, rent, food, utilities, and, now, her baby brother’s medical expenses, which were too much for her aunt and uncle to handle on their own, and quickly piling up. She was learning the hard way that the American healthcare system was broken beyond belief; it seemed like the only way to get results was to have lots and lots of money.

Money that could be made fairly easily if she had a better paying job.  
  
Like the open bouncer position, which, as she understood it, paid _extremely_ well.  
  
However, daydreaming about how gender shouldn’t matter when kicking someone’s ass wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She still had things to do: tables to wait and a paper to write and a sick brother to visit after work. With a heavy sigh she picked up a large tray full of dirty dishes and started toward the kitchen.

  
  


###

“Toc toc!”  
  
Cécile softly tapped on the door and pushed it open: There was her little brother, Jean, sitting upright in an uncomfortable looking hospital bed, notebooks and papers scattered around him. Their aunt, a harsh woman named Madeleine (Maddy for short), sat in a nearby chair, an open math book in her lap. Next to her sat her bespectacled husband, Gary, who was holding a piece of scrap paper and a pencil. He set his eyes on his niece and frowned. Cécile narrowed her eyes and frowned back. She had never gotten along with the older couple: they butted heads almost the second she moved in with them, as they disapproved of her fighting, sexuality, and tendency to speak her mind no matter how inflammatory doing so could be. However, they knew that Jean needed her (and that she needed him), which led to something of a shaky truce between the three.  
  
“Céc!”  
  
Jean’s face instantly lit up as Cécile placed her backpack down. She moved a notebook over and climbed onto the bed so she could recline beside her brother. With a smile she put her feet up and casually folded her hands over her stomach.  
  
“Ça va?”  
“We’re trying to catch up on his missed schoolwork,” Maddy said while glaring at Cécile, her tone dripping with contempt.  
“It’s boring,” Jean said bluntly.  
“It _looks_ boring.”  
“It’s _important_ ,” Gary chimed in. “Sitting around watching tv is —”  
“Just as important and exactly what we’re going to do now. So bye,” Cécile rudely told the couple.

  
Maddy took a deep breath as she glared at her niece before standing up and closing the textbook.  
  
“I don’t want you keeping him up too late.”  
“And, if anything, call the house phone,” Gary said as he ruffled Jean’s hair.  
  
Cécile nodded as their aunt and uncle left the room. She waited until the door closed before she turned to Jean.  
  
“So! What are we watching?”  
“I dunno, but it turns out they have every HBO!”  
  


###

Cécile’s eyes slowly opened as the night nurse entered the dark room. She drew in a deep breath, her arm numb under the weight of her sleeping brother, and mumbled a dull greeting as the woman checked Jean’s vitals and wrote them down on a wall-mounted whiteboard.  
  
“Would you like some water?” She whispered to Cécile, whose eyes were still trying to adjust to being awake.  
“No thank you…”

The nurse took her leave then, and Cécile waited until she was out of the room before she reached for the television remote to turn the volume down. As much as she would have loved to have been in her own bed (or her girlfriend’s for that matter) she knew that leaving Jean in the middle of the night would be a shitty move. With that in mind, she fixed her eyes on the television and started flipping channels until she found something that was just starting. 

The camera panned across the body of a woman sleeping in silky underwear while a catchy 80’s tune played, before focusing on a clock that read 6:30. The girl sat up and the text “ _Just One of the Guys_ ” appeared in yellow font on the screen. Attention piqued (but only because of the scantily clad woman, really…), Cécile sat up a little straighter. The movie seemed like it was going to be mind-numbing… that is, until the main character decided to change high schools and pretend to be a boy because she was convinced that her loss in a writing competition was based on gender bias.

Cécile was immediately hooked, as she knew the feeling all too well: The _only_ reason she wasn’t even being allowed to interview for the bouncer position at L’Amour was because she was female. If she were a man she’d have already snagged the job, and Jean wouldn’t be stuck in the goddamn hospital every other week.

...If... she were... a man.

That would be ridiculous, though, as there was no _way_ someone like her could possibly pose as a male! Sure, she was tall… just as tall as some of the men she worked with, actually… but she looked so feminine…  
  
Then again, there was that one time when she ran into Maddy without a smidgen of makeup on... and scared the absolute shit out of her because, at a glance, she looked so much like her dead father that the woman thought she was seeing things.  
  
“C’est ça!” Cécile exclaimed while bounding upright. Jean let out a low groan, which caused her to grimace and gently whisper for him to go back to sleep. She then switched her focus back to the movie, transfixed, as the proverbial gears started to turn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.
> 
> * Cécile AKA King waiting tables is basically the only thing that makes sense in regards to her even being hired at L'Amour in the first place. Inside info, son!  
> * King moved from France around five years prior to this (she's just barely 21 here), so she never had to deal with the bullshit nonsense of America's healthcare.  
> * So, let's talk about Jean for a moment. I spent literal hours researching pediatric illnesses that might explain why he can't walk and why his medical bills would become as problematic as they did. My solutions: for his legs, there's a rare disorder called Blount's Disease that can affect walking in young children, with the more severe cases requiring corrective surgery. Boom, there's that one. As for his other ailments it's sort of a mixed bag of fuckery, inspired by someone I know who is in and out of the hospital constantly because of Crohn's, migraines, and endometriosis. Obviously that last one can't apply to Jean, but the other two can.  
> * Toc toc = Knock, knock  
> * Ça va? = What's up?  
> * Maddy and Gary are awful people in regards to Cécile: They don't like that she fights (she beat up a lot of kids at school, okay), they don't like that she's bisexual, and they don't like that she doesn't take any shit from anyone — particularly them. However, they absolutely adore cute little Jean.  
> * You should totally see Just One of the Guys simply for the line, "All balls itch! It's a fact!" Like, if that doesn't sell you on the movie, I don't know what will.  
> * C'est ça! = That's it!
> 
> Is that it? I think that's it for this one. Tune in next time, when... well... stuff. Cheers~!


	2. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, shit, here we go again. Let's keep in mind that King is a little cocky and self-assured, but also younger and a lot more naive. You'll understand why this is important later.

Over the next few days Cécile thought almost obsessively about the movie she watched in the hospital as she busted her ass waiting tables and going to classes. Sure, it sounded a little silly, but women masquerading as men wasn’t a foreign concept by any means; there were women all throughout history who had successfully accomplished it: Joan of Arc, Malinda Blalock, and Rena Kanokogi to name a few. If they could do it, why couldn’t she? The more Cécile thought about it, the more it made sense… and the more it seemed like her only option if she wanted to help Jean and, to a (much) lesser extent, Gary and Maddy.

In fact, her thoughts about how _she_ would pull off such a ruse made it almost impossible for her to concentrate on anything else.

…like the psych exam that was worth thirty-five percent of her grade.  
  
She stared blankly at the test, lips pressed in a thin line as she became distracted by the idea once more. She tried to push it out of her mind — to just _focus_ , damn it! — to no avail. After several minutes she slammed her pencil down, frustrated. She stood up, grabbed her backpack and raced out of the room, fully aware that her grade was going to take a nosedive.   
  
Not that it really mattered though, because she had much more important things to think about.   
  


###

After a mostly sleepless night Cécile stood in front of her bathroom mirror, lips pressed together, carefully analyzing her features while holding her chin-length hair away from her face. Without any makeup on she looked rather androgynous and it was actually a little unsettling. If she cut her hair she could absolutely pull off being mistaken for a more… delicate sort of man. She wasn’t willing to part with all of it, though; she’d leave a little of the length on top and then have the back cut and shaved. Kind of like Jean’s...

Of course, if she decided to go through with the scheme, there was still the question of _body_ hair. Obviously she wasn’t going to be walking around without a shirt on, so she could keep grooming her armpits (thank god), but her legs were going to be another story. If a smooth, vanilla-lavender scented calf were to somehow become exposed during a brawl it would kill the entire charade. No, the leg hair had to stay. She would blame her sudden cessation of shaving on being fed up with society’s obsession with hairlessness as a sign of beauty. It was probably going to raise a red flag or two but getting Jean the care he needed was the only thing that was important.  
  
Cécile tilted her head as she continued to look herself over and made a face as her eyes settled on her chest. Her breasts were slightly larger than average, which meant that concealing them was going to require more than just dressing in oversized men’s clothing. She was going to need to smash them as flat as possible and a sports bra alone wasn’t going to do the trick. She was going to need tape. Lots of athletic tape or sports wrap.   
  
Moving on to her wardrobe, she was going to _have_ to do a little shopping in the men’s section — especially if she actually got the job. Not only would she need a few white dress shirts and slacks for L’Amour’s uniform, but she would need ordinary street clothes should she be spotted while out and about on a day off.   
  
Another thing she needed to think about — and this one was important — was her voice, which was probably going to be among the most challenging aspects of the whole plan. She had already researched and discovered a condition called puberphonia, which affected a small percentage of men, but she would still have to make an effort to sound a little _less_ female. She would also have to try her best to not sound too, well, French. Little by little her accent had faded, but, every now and then it would subtly resurface — especially if she got too excited while saying anything that had a hard R in it. Everyone she worked with knew her speech patterns by now so she was going to have to be extra diligent in making sure she didn’t slip up. With that in mind she dropped her short locks, squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat.   
  
“Ard! Bard! Beard,” she recited in the most enthusiastic tone she could muster. “Bird! Third! Buh— ahwd! Buh...awh — b _or_ ed! _Orrrrr_ -d!”   
  
Cécile made a face, cleared her throat a second time, and repeated the same words in a lower tone that didn’t sound convincing to her at all. She was going to have to say that her larynx was _really_ underdeveloped… and hope that they believed her. She stared at herself for just a moment before looking away with a loud sigh.  
  
“Je m’appelle Cécile et j’ai perdu la putain de tête!”   
  
With her arms crossed over her chest Cécile trudged out of the bathroom to the small living room and picked up her laptop, all the while willing herself not to get too discouraged over one minor thing when the rest was all completely doable. 

Of course, the _real_ question Cécile had — the _big_ one — was: What was she was going to do to _act_ like a guy? She wondered if there was anything she could do to make herself seem more _authentically_ masculine, and, if so, what would it be? A quick internet search for “masculine things to do” turned up an article about stuff that _men_ considered manly: Bruce Willis, steak, and whiskey were among them. 

Cécile made a face: She hadn’t really seen very many Bruce Willis movies (but she really liked _Unbreakable_ ) and she had gone vegetarian a few months prior, so steak was right out. As for the whiskey, she was only barely twenty-one so she really didn’t have much experience with alcohol at _all_ . She pressed her lips together once more as she thought about other things that could be inherently considered male. What about her male classmates and coworkers? What did _they_ do? She thought carefully: she always saw that one guy in Art History eating Doritos — the nacho cheese flavoured ones — and drinking Mountain Dew. And then there was that group of guys in her French class that had a tendency to discuss women and blowjobs; it was fucking gross. Come to think of it, she once heard some of her workmates discussing them, too. (Not to mention that her ex had been a big fan...)   
  
So it was safe to say that guys generally liked oral. A _lot_ . She would probably do well to learn a little more about the subject so that if she had to have a conversation about it (which seemed… highly likely…) she’d know what she was talking about — from the male perspective, of course. However, she didn’t know anyone who could really help her out with that, which meant that she was probably going to have to read up on it… or watch a little porn. Or both.  
  
Cécile rose from her seat with a grimace. This was suddenly beginning to look like a tall order, but she was fucking determined to make it work. Therefore, it was time to go out and do a little shopping... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's go over a couple of things, yes? Yes:
> 
> * Women who posed as men: Joan of Arc posed as a male soldier on her way to Chinon, which is why one of the charges against her was "cross-dressing;" Malinda Blalock fought in the American Civil War under the name Samuel Blalock; Rena Kanokogi was a Judo expert who entered a YMCA Judo tourney and won a medal, but was stripped of it when it came out that she was a woman.  
> * I did hella research on converting bra sizes and King is a C-cup. (Presumably a band-size of 36 or 38 given her stature.)  
> * A lot of thought has to go into pretending to be a man. I have said this before and I will say it again: I don't know who at SNK was on what bullshit when they decided that King was wearing a HOT PINK BRA under her WHITE shirt in Art of Fighting. Like... no. No, no, no.  
> * Puberphonia: From Wikipedia: (also known as mutational falsetto, functional falsetto, incomplete mutation, adolescent falsetto, or pubescent falsetto) is a functional voice disorder that is characterized by the habitual use of a high-pitched voice after puberty, hence why many refer to the disorder as resulting in a 'falsetto' voice.  
> * King's accent and the hard-R is a... I don't want to say "jab" but it's a... nod... at her voice actress, Harumi Ikoma, and how she cannot seem to pronounce a hard-R sound to save her life. If you don't believe me listen to King in-game. "It's OH-vah!" "Suh-prise Rose!" blah blah blah.  
> * "Je m'appelle Cécile et j'ai perdu la putain de tête!" = My name is Cécile and I have lost my fucking mind!  
> * The article that King finds is called 18 Things All Men Think Are Manly. Google it.  
> * I shouldn't have to spell out the dynamics of her relationship with her ex-boyfriend, but if I do, uhhh... You know what? Figure it out.
> 
> Well... I think that concludes the notes for this installment. Tell me what's on your mind; don't leave me hanging. Cheers~!


	3. Develop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! Chapter three is here! And considerably longer than the previous two, so, like, strap in and maybe grab some Doritos and whiskey. This might be considered a little AU-ish, since PornHub and Mad Men already exist, but I think I mentioned elsewhere that I had moved birthdays up by a decade or two to keep the setting modern but, also, keep the ages canon compliant.
> 
> Onward~

The mall food court was crowded and noisy: The cacophony of different conversations, crying babies, and music playing over the PA system made Cécile want to claw her own ears off, but she was on a mission, damn it! A little noise and some unwanted social interaction were paramount to her plan, which involved sitting by herself, people-watching. Most of her attention was focused on the many men walking the area: how they generally carried themselves, how they talked… what they were purchasing or had purchased. She didn't know what she was expecting, but now that she was _really_ observing them, she decided that they were all perfectly mediocre.

Naturally, there were _several_ who noticed her looking at them and looked back with disingenuous smiles or lustful glints in their eyes: The cashier who took her drink order had a very flirtatious air about him but Cécile tried to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he was genuinely friendly? However, at the end of the transaction he invited her out to some college party, and, when she declined, asserted that her boyfriend (or, unbeknownst to him, _girlfriend_ ) didn't need to know. He then called her a "stupid bitch" under his breath as she started to walk away.

She very nearly threw her drink on him but thought better of it because she was actually really thirsty.

Another man, who was at least twenty years her senior and wore a fanny pack and a wedding band, sauntered over to her some time later, clearly intent on getting to know her in a biblical sense, but skulked away after she made a cutting remark that — hopefully — made him never want to talk to another woman again.

There were a few others, each one as infuriating as the next… each one _grubbier_ than the next. And if there was anything Cécile couldn't stand, it was nasty, grubby men. They reminded her of an intensely unpleasant event that she had desperately tried to forget about. It was because of that association that, when a _group_ of men who insisted they were "nice guys" approached, she tensed up and verbally eviscerated each one of them, all the while forcing herself to keep calm and not break any one of their faces. Dejected, they walked off, but not before one of them loudly declared that Cécile was a "snooty whore."

Why were men such fucking trash?!

Cécile fumed while she sipped on her strawberry lemonade, disturbed by the audacity of the male species. How could anybody be so presumptuous? What made them even think they were deserving of her affection in the first place? Especially when they were slovenly and made creepy, unwarranted remarks? Or had the nerve to suggest that something was wrong with _her_ for not wanting them?! Even the "nice" ones were assholes! Her first boyfriend was a nice one: a good guy who really loved her.

...Until he dumped her for another girl — via text! — shortly after she moved to America.

Her father had always told her to be careful around boys — even the "good" ones...

Her father, who hadn't been creepy, or slovenly, or an asshole. Suddenly, Cécile found herself missing him _fiercely_ : Unlike all of these other men she had spent time watching (or, in the more unfortunate cases, talking to), her father had been dapper and smooth — kind of like a super French Don Draper, just without the adultery or alcoholism. He was extremely intelligent and always wore finely tailored suits to work: nice ties and vests and suspenders and cuff links that were very pretty but somehow still very masculine. Even when he was dressed down for things like home-improvement projects or sparring he still carried himself with a certain dignity that Cécile could only dream of attaining.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized that if she had been born a boy, she would have wanted to be exactly like him.

Of course… she still could be...

After a little bit more thought she decided that she was _absolutely_ going to go through with this thing. She was going to go through with this thing, and she was going to take a few pages from her father's book and do it with class. She rose from her seat, walked her now empty drink to the nearest trash bin, and took off toward the salon.

###

Several hours later Cécile — now with a new, shorter haircut — sat with her feet propped up on her coffee table, laptop positioned precariously on her knees and, beside her, a bag of nacho cheese Doritos and a bottle of cheap whiskey. She shifted her upper body to try to get more comfortable, as she had put on a sports bra and then wrapped her chest with athletic tape until her breasts were as flat as she could get them in an effort to practice for her disguise.

Cécile took a very deep breath (which was a little difficult because of the tape) and held it while she opened up an incognito window in her browser and navigated to PornHub. She didn't exactly make it a habit to watch pornography; it was great that it existed for other people to enjoy, but for her it was something of a strange concept. Nevertheless, if she wanted to learn about _this_ particular aspect of being male, then the internet was probably going to be her best bet. She scrolled through the frontpage and made a tortured noise as images of cream pies, babes in socks, and extreme close ups of things she really didn't want to see seared themselves into her retinas. With a grimace she navigated to the blowjob videos and clicked on the first one she saw; she hit play, grabbed the whiskey, and sniffed it. She made a face: it definitely _smelled_ like something that would be considered a "manly" drink. She took a cautious sip straight out of the bottle and immediately began coughing.

It! fucking! _burned_!

She continued to cough as she tore open the bag of Doritos. She broke a small piece off of one, took a bite, and instantly regretted it: the taste of the powdery nacho "cheese" coupled with the whiskey was an absolute abomination and she suddenly wondered if what she was doing would even be worth it. She then thought of Jean, who couldn't walk and was constantly in and out of the hospital because of his flare-ups, as well as all of the red tape involved in his medical care as a whole, and exhaled sharply before grabbing the bottle again. She forced herself to watch the screen as she took another sip, which burned just as much as the first one.

Cécile furrowed her brow. Maybe if she made a game out of it she would be able to trick herself into getting used to the "taste" little by little? She decided that she would take a sip of whiskey for every instance of deep throating, which turned out to be a very big mistake, as it didn't take long before her vision began to blur. Her head was suddenly swimming and she realized with a degree of subdued amazement (because, somehow, feeling anything other than extremely relaxed was oddly impossible) that she had already gone through nearly a third of the bottle, and had apparently eaten a few more Doritos in the process, as evidenced by the orange film on her fingertips.

"Oh, _shit_ ," she said out loud, eyes wide, as she concluded that, for the first time ever, she was drunk.

_Extremely_ drunk.

She placed a hand on her head, momentarily taken aback by the length of her hair, and let out a strangled sort of giggle as a woman took a ridiculously well-endowed man into her mouth because not only was that thing insanely large, but how many of these videos had she even watched by now? She honestly couldn't remember for the life of her. And why hadn't she gained a better understanding of why blowjobs were so "hot" in the first place? What was she missing? Was it simply impossible for her female brain to grasp the very concept? Fortunately and unfortunately, she was unable to analyze the whys and hows because the doorbell rang, startling her, as she wasn't expecting any visitors.

At least, she didn't _think_ she was…?

"J-jus' a minnit!" Cécile called, her voice strangely breathy and tired-sounding. She set the laptop, food, and drink down on the coffee table, quickly jumped to her feet (bad idea) and wiped her hand on her pants, marking them with unseemly orange streaks. She unsteadily made her way to the door and peered through the peephole to see her girlfriend, Jessica, standing there waiting.

Her girlfriend, who had no idea of what she was planning.

Unsure of how she was going to explain herself, Cécile reached for the doorknob but instantly stopped when she realized that her chest was still tightly bound. She gracelessly tore the tape off and threw it off to the side of the room before running a hand through her hair (she still needed to get used to the shorter length) and pulling the door open.

"Hi! Hey, _hi_ ," she said quickly.  
"Hey, ba — you cut your hair," Jessica remarked, her expression going from happy to quizzical as she took in Cécile's altered appearance.  
"Ahhhh. Yeeeeeeah. Needed a change — thought I'd s'prise you," Cécile replied nonchalantly. She hastily placed a hand on the door frame to steady herself because she was starting to lose her balance.

"Well, I _really_ wasn't expecting that but it looks _great_!"  
"Thuh-thank you…!"  
"...Where's your shirt?"  
"I was changing," Cécile replied, her words jumbled. "An' then… you… went _knock_ …"  
"Wow, you look _and_ sound really tired," Jessica commented. "You're not getting sick, are you?"  
"Nuh-no…?"

Cécile momentarily shut her eyes as Jessica sniffed the air, and then leaned forward and sniffed _her_.

"Have you been _drinking_?!" She asked incredulously. She quickly ducked under Cécile's arm so she could enter the apartment, and looked around.

"Uhhh... A _li'l_ …"

Cécile shut the door and willed herself to try to pull it together, but damn! She was _drunk_! So, so, so, _so_ drunk...! But, regardless of her state, Jessica was there, and she was asking questions and, all at once, it occurred to Cécile that the computer was still on the coffee table — playing porn. She clumsily lunged forward and slammed the lid on the laptop down as fast as she could with the hope that her girlfriend hadn't seen or heard anything.

" _Whiskey_?!"

Jessica held up the bottle, seemingly unaware that there had been anything questionable on the computer. Cécile nodded her head up and down, maybe a little too enthusiastically while she widened her eyes, which felt incredibly heavy. She hastily lowered herself onto the sofa, not out of an actual desire to sit, but because her legs felt like they were about to give out. She cleared her throat as Jessica sat down beside her.

"It's Saturday afternoon."  
"Uh-huh..."  
"We were supposed to see a movie."  
"Uh-huh…"  
"But you're _very_ fucked up."  
"I… I _mean_ … I wouldn't say ' _very_ '... but… very," Cécile replied. She grinned as Jessica drew closer, placed a hand on her cheek, and looked her in the eye.

"What's the matter, Céc? What happened to make you do something like this?"  
"I… ummm…"

Cécile momentarily pressed her lips together as she wondered if she should just tell Jessica what she was up to, but the less she knew, the better. At least, that's what _Sober_ Cécile would have thought. _Drunk_ Cécile, however, wanted to be as honest as she could be — because honesty was the _best_ policy! — so she grabbed the whiskey from Jessica and took another swig before deciding that she would just tell her _everything_.

"I'm gunna go f'r the bouncer job," she slurred matter-of-factly.  
"The bouncer job? At the restaurant?"  
"Mmm- _hm_ ," Cécile hummed as she took another sip of the alcohol, which really didn't burn all that much anymore.  
"But they won't even interview you because you're a woman," Jessica pointed out. "So, how are you —"  
"'m gunna _pretend_ , silly! I'm 'unna pretend to be a man so I can get the job. 'S why I cut my hair! An' I bought… quel es les mot...?"

Cécile looked toward the ceiling and made a face as the English language suddenly escaped her.

"Oh, babe," Jessica laughed. "You're just talking shit because of how drunk you are!"  
"Je suis _sérieuse_!"

With that Cécile placed the whiskey bottle on the coffee table and squinted at Jessica while she lightly swayed back and forth. Was sitting up always so _hard_? Before she could give it much thought she fell backward, landing against the arm of the sofa, which kept her slightly propped up.

"I'll be the _best_ damn bouncer they've ever had," she declared while raising a fist in the air. "Better'n… ...quel... que soit son nom…!"  
"Céc —" Jessica leaned over Cécile — "you're so wasted that you're slipping into French. I don't think _you_ even know what you're saying."  
"I _do_ know what I'm saying! 'm jus' _tired_ of everyone un'ner… un'ner-esti… un'nerestimating me…!"  
"No one's underestimating you."  
"Pfft. Thas'sa lie and you _know_ it," Cécile spat, agitated. "Only thing people see when they look at me is a- a stupid woman with a pretty face — an' nothing more!"  
"Oh, babe," Jessica sighed. "That's not true…"

Cécile looked into Jessica's dark eyes, wounded, as the majority of the conversation they had just had almost instantaneously disappeared from her brain, leaving only a trace of it — with barely any context — behind.

"So 'm _not_ pretty...?!"

The other woman chuckled as she snuggled up beside Cécile and brushed some hair out of her face.

"Don't worry, darling, you're _very_ pretty. But you _do_ know what this means, right?"  
"Whuzzit mean?"  
"It means —" Jessica gripped the zipper on the front of Cécile's bra and began to slowly pull it down — "that I can take advantage of you all I want…!"

Cécile quirked a brow; her eyes went wide and she drew back a little bit before placing a hand on Jessica's wrist.

"You mean… like… _sex_ …?"

She wrinkled her nose as she whispered the last word, a little shocked and confused. Jessica stopped unzipping the bra, laid her head on Cécile's shoulder, and laughed.

"What do _you_ think…?"  
"Je pense…"

Cécile trailed off and involuntarily moaned when Jessica kissed her neck and resumed unzipping the bra. There was a part of her that knew she _really_ needed to sober up and continue putting her plan together, but her girlfriend — and even her own body — had other ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit to unpack here so here we go:
> 
> * Being young and female at the mall sucks. Truly.  
> * The incident that King is trying to forget about was her loss to Jack Turner and his gang, the Black Cats, a couple of months prior. Go read A Profound Impact for more on that one.  
> * For anyone who hasn't seen Mad Men, Don Draper is the lead character, played by John Hamm. That's actually the role that got him really famous. Google is your friend.  
> * The death of King's father is what ended up sending her and Jean to live with Maddy and Gary, as their mom had passed some time prior due to complications with Jean.  
> * Obviously, King is not a bartender yet, and thus, is a bit unfamiliar with alcohol.  
> * On King's voice coming out tired and breathy sounding when she's drunk: Raise your hand if you've seen Thor:Ragnarok. Do you remember Valkyrie? Listen to her speak when she's constantly drunk versus how she speaks when she's sober (toward the end of the movie). King does the same thing. Also, if you haven't seen it, go to YouTube and search for vids featuring Valkyrie so you can hear the difference in how she sounds drunk versus sober. (Also, Tessa Thompson = Love)  
> * Why, yes! Jessica is, in fact, the girlfriend who's been mentioned in other fics. Remember, their breakup was so bad that King doesn't even want to hear her name. More on that some time down the line ;) (Also, she totally looks like Nathalie Emmanuel.)  
> * Je suis sérieuse! = I'm serious!  
> * Quel es les mot? = what's the word?  
> * Quel... que soit son nom = Whatever his name is  
> * Remember, King has a "thing" about being underestimated. Even before the events of MLS she had some baggage, okay.  
> * Je pense = I think
> 
> Okay! So! That's that on that! She has the haircut, the clothes, and some newfound experience with pornography and liquor. All that's missing is the alias. Tune in next time to find out how Cécile's plan ultimately comes to fruition! Until then, cheers~!


	4. Regulatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took way too long to write. Special thanks to David Tai for dragging me down a rabbit hole of... interesting research. Ultimately a lot of it didn't quite make the cut (I'll explain, don't worry) but it was certainly enlightening.
> 
> Onward~

Cécile’s head was _killing_ her.  
  
She had abruptly woken up from what she was _guessing_ was a post-coitus nap, violently ill, and ran to the bathroom, where whiskey and orange mush forcefully came up in a graceless display of retching and crying that was accompanied by whispers of profane gibberish.  
  
Cécile heaved and gripped the sides of the toilet bowl, intensely angry at herself for stupidly drinking to the point of sickness and memory loss, as there were entire patches of time that were just… gone. The only things she knew for sure were that nacho cheese Doritos were pretty gross, drunk sex (or what she could remember of it, anyway) felt pretty great, and she was never going to drink whiskey again. She took a deep breath and tried to swallow, but the taste lingering in her mouth made her sick all over again. She threw up even more until the only thing left to spit up was stomach acid.

“Céc?!”

Jessica’s concerned voice issued from somewhere outside the bathroom. It was only a matter of seconds before she was on the floor beside Cécile, her face screwed up with worry.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Cécile turned her head very slightly while reaching up to flush the toilet. She squinted at Jessica, still a bit confused, and let out a deep breath.  
  
“You’re still here…?” She asked while shakily bringing herself to her feet.  
“Well, yeah. You were really out of it.”  
  
Cécile swore under her breath before approaching the counter to run some water over her face and gargle with mouthwash. She focused on her reflection in the mirror, which she still needed to get used to, pressed her lips together in a thin line, and ran a hand through her hair. She needed to _get_. _it_. _together_.  
  
“I-I have to go,” she mumbled into a hand towel as she dried her face.  
“Go where? You’re —”  
“The restaurant.”  
“Wait, so you really _did_ mean all that mess you were babbling about earlier?! About pretending to be—?!”  
“Of course I meant it,” Cécile responded, a little puzzled by Jessica’s disbelief. She placed the towel down and stepped out into the living room to retrieve her sports bra, which was carelessly strewn across the arm of the sofa. She peeled off the form fitting tank top she was wearing (which she didn’t even remember changing into in the first place) so she could put the bra back on. Once that was done she walked over to the tiny dining area and picked up the tape she had previously discarded: She turned to look at Jessica, who had followed her out and was standing with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and jaw set.

“...Yes?” Cécile asked distractedly as she began binding her chest.  
“You’re nuts,” came Jessica’s flat reply.  
“Maybe...”  
  
As soon as she finished, Cécile began rummaging through one of the many shopping bags she left scattered around the living room; she pulled out a dark button down dress shirt, then hurriedly grabbed an iron and a small counter top ironing board. She deftly set everything up, took the tags off the top, and spread it out so she could get to work.  
  
“I can’t believe you,” Jessica spoke up loudly, her voice laced with derision, “Have you even thought this through?!”  
  
Cécile stopped what she was doing so she could look at her girlfriend, who was very obviously pissed off.  
  
“Of course I’ve thought this through! Why are you so angry about it?”  
“Because I didn’t see you for days —”  
“But we talked.”  
“— and then I come over for a date we planned _two weeks ago_ to find you with very little hair, drunk off _whiskey_ and rambling about dressing up like a man! What’s worse is that you didn’t even say a word about this until I got here! So, yeah — I’m a little angry!”  
“If I had told you about this ahead of time you would have found some way to talk me out of it,” Cécile retorted as she started ironing once more. She paused before adding, “Also, if memory serves, you didn’t seem all that angry while I was going down on you earlier.”  
  
Jessica cleared her throat and balled her hands into fists. She hastily looked away from Cécile, who was smirking at her.  
  
“This is crazy,” Jessica declared after a moment.  
“It is. But it’s so crazy that it’s going to work!”  
“Céc!”  
“ _What_ ?!” Cécile snapped as she finished with the shirt. She threw it on and started buttoning it, her eyes fixed on Jessica.  
“What’s your family gonna say?! What’s _Jean_ gonna say?!”  
“Nothing, because I’m not telling them,” Cécile answered while scanning the area. “And neither are you. Now. Can you hand me those pants over there?”  
  
Jessica made a face but crossed the room to pick up the slacks Cécile was referring to. She was about to hand them over but then did a double take.  
  
“Is that a _jockstrap_ ?!”  
“It is, yes,” Cécile answered without batting an eye. “I was going to try to use it — to make this even more authentic — but it hindered my movement when I practiced with it before I got drunk. Besides —” she held her hand out and motioned for Jessica to give her the pants — “it’s not like anyone will notice my bulge — or lack thereof — while I’m kicking them in the face.”  
“Oh my god,” Jessica growled as she handed the garment over. Cécile spread it over the ironing board and deftly ran the hot metal across it, a little annoyed by how Jessica was acting.  
  
“Getting back to my family,” she said calmly, “they don’t need to know anything about this. As far as they’re concerned it’s just a haircut and a schedule change. As for school, I’m not going to tell them right away. Maddy will be pissed about it but her and Gary only helped with a couple of textbooks, so —”  
“Wait,” Jessica interrupted. “Céc, are you dropping out of school for this?!”   
“I kind of have to,” Cécile answered without looking up. “I have to forge a new identity and I can’t do that if I’m still going to class because there’s a chance that someone will recognize me. I already ended up serving my art history professor and his mistress that one time, remember?”

Jessica’s eyes widened so much that they looked like they would surely bulge right out of her skull.

“But you’re on a full scholarship,” she yelled. “You’re just gonna waste it?!”  
“Does it matter? I have… what’s the expression? Bigger fish to fry?”  
“‘Bigger fish to fry?!’ God, you are the _queen_ of bullshit, Céc!”  
“How so?! Because I’m doing something that’s more important than working toward a degree that I’ll probably never use anyway?!”  
  
Jessica rolled her eyes and made a frustrated noise.  
  
“Oh my god! This is… this is unbelievably stupid! Don’t be stupid, Cécile!”

Cécile finished with the slacks, pulled them on, and unplugged the iron. Her temper, which had been at something of a very low simmer, suddenly hit a boiling point, especially since Jessica’s use of her full name was expertly designed to get under her skin.

“You think that me trying to help my brother is _stupid_ ?! What the _fuck_ , Jess?!”  
  
Jessica silently placed a hand on her hip, her body language indignant. Cécile made a strange sound as she willed herself to stay calm, but it was no use. Before she could even begin to stop herself she was shouting.  
  
“Oh, it must be so nice to be in such a position that you can comfortably say something like that! To not… to not _get_ what it’s like to watch your baby brother, who can’t walk because he needs surgery that your family — your family that actually, honest-to-God _hates_ you, by the way — can’t afford! He’s in constant fucking _pain_ because he has more than one condition on _top_ of being crippled! He’s nine and has spent more time in the hospital than some of the nurses who care for him and is on a first-name basis with half of the fucking pediatric ward!  
And you _definitely_ don’t get how it feels to _know_ that you have the ability to help, but no one will give you the chance because of what’s between your legs! You don’t get how _awful_ it feels to be so powerless — but unable to even express it because you have no choice but to be strong! Because _you_ have to be the rock to lean on!  
So, yeah, maybe a little cross-dressing _is_ stupid, but if it means that I can finally do something to help Jean get the treatment he needs then so be it! I’m _done_ sitting around! And if you don’t get _that_ then maybe you should get the hell out!”  
  
Cécile drew in a very deep breath while turning away to pick up another shopping bag that held a pair of brand new men’s shoes. She quickly pulled them out of the box and began lacing them up, her hands somewhat shaky because of her anger.  
  
“You’re right,” Jessica finally responded after a tense silence. “I _don’t_ get it. And I never will — because I’m _not_ you — but I dunno if I can support this.”  
“Then don’t,” Cécile said coldly. “Door’s that way.”  
  
She angrily brought herself to her feet and walked back to the bathroom so she could look herself over, as well as make sure that her face was completely makeup free: she spotted a tiny eyeliner smudge just under her left eye and deftly scrubbed it away with a makeup wipe. She then ran it over her entire face to make sure there wasn’t a single trace of anything before removing her earrings.  
  
“Men don’t usually have two piercings in each ear...”  
  
Jessica walked over from the living room, her expression blank.  
  
“High school punk phase,” Cécile stated curtly.  
“You don’t have an Adam’s apple.”  
“Collared shirts. Ties.”  
“Your voice?”  
“Puberphonia. ...It’s a functional voice disorder,” Cécile explained when Jessica made a face.  
“You really _have_ thought this through,” the other woman responded.  
  
Cécile didn’t say anything; she adjusted her collar and squared her shoulders.  
  
“How do I look?” she asked after a small stretch of silence.  
“You look… like a really hot boy.”  
“...Perfect.”  
  
Delighted (but still upset), Cécile hurried past her companion so she could grab her wallet, phone, and keys from the coffee table. She pocketed her belongings and started toward the door, with Jessica following close behind.  
  
“Céc...!”  
“If you’re not leaving now, then do me a favour and lock up when you go,” Cécile told her girlfriend dully. She then stomped out of the small apartment, more determined than ever to make her “stupid” plan work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird having to read King being referred to as Cécile? Because, like, not gonna lie, it's weird to actually write. Anyway, let's do this:
> 
> * King didn't get what's considered "blackout" drunk because she can still remember certain things. Poor bb...  
> * In case you weren't quite sure, it's now Saturday night.  
> * Let's talk about the jockstrap for a second *glances at Tai*: I had a throwaway line in the previous chapter about King practicing her kicks while wearing a jockstrap stuffed with a pair of socks, and that it ultimately hindered her movement, but I cut it because it just didn't flow right with the rest of the words. But, now we know why she didn't take it that far.  
> * On Jean's age: He's twelve in my other fics because of the passage of time. Simple.  
> * Oddly enough, King's character art in the OG AOF depicts her wearing earrings (only one in each earlobe tho). I headcanon (and illustrate) her as having more than one piercing in each ear because it's just really common.
> 
> Next time! King goes to L'Amour with the sole purpose of landing her dream job, but what will happen when she gets there? Will anybody recognize her as the tall, French waitress with the pointy nose, or will she go completely undetected by her peers? Tell me what you're thinking, and, hopefully I'll see you all sooner rather than later!
> 
> Stay safe out there and make sure to practice social distancing!


	5. Launch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't expect to finish this so quickly, but a personal goal was to get it out before Resident Evil 3 and FFVIIR dropped. Looks like I've made it in the nick of time, as RE3 is coming out in less than eight hours (as of this writing).
> 
> Anyway, let's see what's next for Cécile.
> 
> Onward~

People who normally would have stopped Cécile on the street with poorly thought-out, trite pick up lines (like the guy who lived three floors down) paid her no mind as she strolled through the familiar streets of Southtown. It was almost like she was invisible… and she loved it. There was something deeply satisfying about being able to walk by herself — at night! — without having to worry about the possibility of being attacked by drunken degenerates. Of course, it was a shame that the only way she could _truly_ feel safe while taking a stroll was by being someone else, but… did it really matter at this point? Her plan was already _working_ : people didn’t recognize her as _her_ ; she was just a well-dressed young man walking down the street. She held her head up high as she continued forward, unable to help it as the corners of her mouth turned upward.  
  
She was _going_ to get that job.  
  
Just as Cécile reached a crosswalk the text chime on her phone sounded from within her pocket. She dug the device out and looked at the screen, which displayed a text message from Jessica that read, “Good luck.”  
  
Cécile stared at the little notification banner but decided not to respond, as she was still rather unhappy with how things had gone between her and her girlfriend. She couldn’t afford to let herself become distracted — especially not now. She put the phone away and continued toward her destination, which was just across the street.

Once she was outside of L’Amour Cécile found herself staring at the loathsome sign in the window. That damn thing had mocked her for weeks, but things were finally going to be different this time. She walked inside and quickly tore the paper down (which garnered a concerned look from the new hostess, whom she had only met once before) before briskly making her way toward the bar, where the restaurant manager — a perfectly ordinary man named Moses — sat, playing solitaire and drinking… whiskey. He appeared to be having a conversation with the bartender, a somewhat lecherous chap called Bruce, who had been working at the restaurant for at least three-hundred years. 

Cécile pressed her lips together in a thin line, her heart racing. She swiftly thought of her father again — and of how assertive and confident he had been in life, regardless of where he was or who he talked to. And while it was true that _she_ was a very confident individual, it was also true that she was out of her element: She was not a man — she was a woman dressed as a man… there was a huge difference. However, she knew that she could do what any man could — and could probably even do it better. Especially when it came to kicking the shit out of someone. All she had to do was play the part.  
  
And, so, Cécile took a deep, steadying breath, sauntered right up to the counter, and slammed the sign down on the hard surface, right next to Moses’s drink.  
  
“I’m here for the bouncer position,” she declared in a low, emphatic tone.  
“Position’s taken,” Moses told her flatly without even looking up from his cards.  
  
Cécile was pretty sure her heart momentarily stopped. There was no way the job could have been filled — especially since it had still been up for grabs when she worked the night before. Either Moses was full of shit (which was very likely) or someone had actually come in and beat her to the position by a matter of hours. If that was the case she was going to have to think on what to do. She couldn’t do anything impulsive; she needed to —  
  
“By whom?” She asked before she could stop herself.  
  
At that, Moses turned away from his game, took a drink of whiskey, and looked Cécile up and down, his brow furrowed.  
  
“The position has been _filled_ ,” he reiterated. “And, even if it was still open there’s no way someone like you would be hired.”  
“Someone like me?”  
“He means you’re too soft,” Bruce spoke up from behind the counter.  
“Why don’t you come over and see how soft I am?!” Cécile shot back without thinking. Both men raised their eyebrows at her… and then, to her chagrin, began to laugh. She pressed her lips together again and clenched her fists, her temper starting to flare. Even while dressed as a man she was being underestimated.  
  
“Is there a problem here?”  
  
Cécile quirked a brow at the sound of the voice, which was somehow vaguely familiar. She turned away from the pair at the counter to see a man approaching… a man she recognized immediately as one of three who attacked her after work not all that long ago. She held her breath as he approached; she remembered his face so vividly: how drunk he had been when he initially approached her, and how he held her down with the help of a friend (who looked like a darker, dirty Iggy Pop) and told her that he liked it when “dumb cunts” like her fought back.  
  
She also remembered how easily she had taken him down before his big, fat friend stepped in to incapacitate her. She clenched her fists even tighter but didn’t say a word as he drew closer, a smug grin on his face.  
  
“Name’s Dimples,” he informed Cécile as he stopped in front of her, “and I’m the king of this here castle.”  
  
Before she could stop herself Cécile let out a loud snicker, which drew the ire of all three men in her company. The rapey asshole in front of her had unironically told her that he was called _Dimples_ and then declared himself _royalty_ . She hoped _she_ didn’t come across as that silly. Nevertheless, she quickly composed herself, cleared her throat, and stood up straighter.  
  
“Well then,” she told Dimples calmly. “I guess I’m just going to have to dethrone you.”  
“What makes you think —”  
  
There was a loud, sickening crack as Cécile interrupted the new bouncer with a single kick that connected with his mouth, breaking several teeth. She knew she could take him out in one blow but she wanted revenge for what he did — for what he _tried_ to do. She watched with glee while he staggered backward, covered his bloody mouth with both hands, and spluttered obscenities in disbelief that quickly turned into rage.

“You asshole!” Dimples shouted. He threw a straight right at Cécile, which she easily dodged. She then snatched his shirt collar and jerked his head down while forcefully bringing her knee up to his face, smashing his nose. She followed up with a hard uppercut that sent him to the floor.

Cécile watched Dimples (what a name…) squirm around, trying his best to get up. She attempted to keep from looking _too_ pleased with her handiwork, but she knew she was failing — and miserably at that. She abruptly recalled that night once more: the fucking _barbarity_ of his attempted actions and the sheer terror she experienced — particularly when she felt his arousal against her leg as she struggled. Suddenly _infuriated,_ she stomped down on his crotch as hard as she could; he let out a loud yelp that was cut short by a kick to the face that knocked him out cold. 

“Who’s the king now?” Cécile asked coldly. She grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and tossed it at Dimples so he could clean up his blood when he woke up. Satisfied, she turned back to Moses and Bruce, who were both staring, their jaws practically on the floor. She raised her eyebrows at them, giving the go-ahead to speak… or do anything, really.

“Okay,” Moses uttered after a moment. He fixed his eyes on Dimples, who was beginning to stir, and called out, “Hey, man, you awake?” 

A feeble nod. 

“You’re fired.”

Cécile’s eyes widened as Moses shifted his attention to her.

“Can you start tomorrow? Five o’clock?” He asked, his expression still somewhat awestruck.  
“Y-yes.”  
“Great. Off you go.”  
“Thank you,” Cécile told him sincerely, while trying to hold back her excitement. “Thank you so much!”

She cleared her throat and turned on her heel so she could exit the restaurant to call Jessica. She was eager to share the news, offer to take her out to dinner, and maybe say, “I told you so,” though that last bit wouldn’t be very nice...

“Hey.”

Bruce’s voice instantly stopped Cécile in her tracks. She slowly turned around to face the bartender, who was squinting at her while drying a glass.  
  
"Yes...?"  
“You didn’t give us your name.”

At that, Cécile inwardly grimaced; she actually _hadn’t_ thought of that. She looked around at her surroundings before fixing her eyes on the playing cards on the counter. She pondered for just a moment… and then it struck her. She glanced over at Dimples, who was _still_ on the floor, and smirked.

“Call me King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it, folks. I've thought about this way too much for way too long. I tried to make King's origin story make as much sense as possible using what what I had/have (very little canon to go by and an overactive imagination). Here are a couple of notes:
> 
> * Canonically, Céc loses a fight to Jack Turner and his gang (the Black Cats) some point before the events of the first Art of Fighting, which I wrote about as well. So, like, if you're new, I'mma point you over to A Profound Impact so you can get the skinny on that event... and King's past experience with Dimples, darker, dirty Iggy Pop, and, of course, Jack.  
> * Speaking of Dimples! There's a movie called Attack the Block that stars Jodie Whitaker and John Boyega that came out, like... back in 2011. I highly recommend it and I'm bringing it up because two of the characters are called Moses and Dimples. Obscure pop culture reference FTW!
> 
> Uhh, that's actually it for the notes section. So! I hope you all enjoyed this jaunt into what King's life might have been like leading up to her decision to work for Big. Tell me what's on your mind and I'll see you all next time.
> 
> WASH YOUR HANDS!


End file.
